Terrace deep as the sky.
Stone bench where I sit and read,
I wandered by myself
Into the heart of the mountains of Yoshino.
In one hand a book, in the other, a bag made of newsprint—
No weather-beaten bones here
Just lychees bought in the market,
Thirty rupees per kilogram.
Stalks mottled red tied up with string,
Flesh the color of pigeon wings—
Sunlight bruises air
Pine trees blacken.
Where shall I go?
The Dhauladhar peaks
Are covered in snow.
Meena Alexander, "Lychees" from Birthplace with Buried Stones. Copyright © 2013 by Meena Alexander. Reprinted by permission of Northwestern University Press.
Source: Birthplace with Buried Stones
(Northwestern University Press, 2013)